Brave
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Most men would be pissed if you called them the wrong name, but he's been where she has. Much like the animated film, there's a redheaded heroine here, too (no correlation, though). LBSF again, shockingly enough. pre-married Jenny/Jethro. It's hard for snarky, sarcastic redheads with painful pasts to love again, you know.


_a/n: i'm tellin ya, i'm on some sort of writing speed lately. waitressing seems to be an impeccable muse. two LBSF tags within a two day period? someone check my vital signs._

_This is old school LBSF, actually. It's set before Jenny & Gibbs are married. I personally find it rather romantic, but according to my lovely Mila, my fluff = angst, my silly = angst, it all = angst, so you be the judge. _

* * *

An old war injury in the knee was bothering him and he couldn't get comfortable, so Leroy Jethro Gibbs was awake when the nightmare struck her.

She jerked once in her sleep, flinched, gasped, and was awake with wide eyes staring at the ceiling before he could gently pull her out of it. She gasped again and thrashed over violently, turning onto her side and smacking into his chest, her nose pressing against his shoulder.

He grunted and reached out, taking her shoulder and pressing his fingertips into her skin gently.

"Jenny," he muttered quietly.

She squinted her eyes, her hands grasping at his chest blinding.

"Jim—?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice.

He shook his head and ran his hand over her shoulder, slipping it down her back. Her skin was sweaty, making her thin tank-top stick to her. He plucked it from her skin, cooling her off a little.

"Jethro," he corrected gruffly.

Her eyes closed, her lashes spreading out heavily against each other. Her mouth shook as she pressed it into a tight line, and he could tell it wasn't disappointment that was bothering her; she was upset, but not because she woke up with the wrong man.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She shook her head and started to sit up, tangled hair falling in her eyes and tumbling over her shoulders. She sucked in a breath and reached for the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry," she said again.

He shook his head once more and pulled her back down to the sheets and pillows, laying his head next to hers. He moved his feet until one of them touched hers, and he nudged her gently, content to remain silent while she recovered. She rubbed her nose and her jaw, the engagement ring on her finger glimmering in the dark room.

Her body shook, and he ran his palm down her back and over her hip. She knotted a strand of hair around her finger.

She tended to have nightmares more often when they stayed at her place, and they tended to be twice as bad. He supposed it was because she had slept here with her late husband, and something still made her shy away from the idea of replacing him.

She looked at him narrowly in the dark, and her eyes flashed.

"Doesn't it piss you off?" she growled, vicious suddenly, as she was sometimes when she felt weak, or cornered, or devastated.

He shrugged at her, yawning a little.

"What?" he challenged, feigning ignorance.

Her jaw was hard.

"Me," she snapped hoarsely. "Waking you up, screaming for another man."

"You didn't scream," he pointed out, snorting.

He fell silent for a moment, and then reached out and touched the dog tags at her neck. He pressed them against her skin gently, his fingers brushing her collarbone. He _was_ jealous. He _didn't_ like that she called him _Jim_ on bad nights. He wanted her to wake up and see him, and ask for him, but Jenny had spent years grieving in all the wrong ways, and he couldn't hold it against her. She was doing better now, but it was a struggle, and much of what worked to comfort her was trial and error.

He remembered all those years _he_ had woken with a start, confused and terrified for a moment when Shannon wasn't next to him, and then broken all over again when the loss came crashing back. He had empathy. He had been there.

His fingers went over the burnt edges of her dog tags, and she shoved his hand, twisting the other direction. He didn't let her go; he made it difficult for her to get away, and she kicked him. She turned her head to the side.

"'_Jim''s_ nicer than what you called me the other day," he remarked blithely.

He sensed her turmoil for a minute, and then she laughed hesitantly, a surprised, breathless sound. She clutched at her hair again and turned back a little, looking at him warily.

"You ought to go home, Duke," she said, her voice catching. She narrowed her eyes, trying to look cold. "It sounds like I want _him_."

Gibbs said nothing. He reached for the hand in her hair, and he untangled the strands of red from her fingers gently.

"He's gone, Jen," he said bluntly. He cocked an eyebrow. "You really want me to go?" he provoked.

Her face turned pale.

"No," she retorted fiercely, as if it were obvious.

She turned towards him, tangling up in the sheets and raising up a little. She looked at him intently, a deep, iron flicker in her green eyes. He saw her protecting herself, and met her glare mildly.

She had never wished Jethro was Jim. She couldn't explain her own emotions. She loved Jethro, _him,_ for the man he was. She had just held on to Jim for so long and she had been so young when he was taken from her.

"Why?" she asked dully. "Why do you want to marry me?"

Why, when she hadn't gotten through a night lately without calling him by her dead husband's name. Why, when she kept taking two steps back for every step forward and why, when there were plenty of women who found him attractive and who didn't come with a fire-soaked background.

He arched a brow at her seriously.

"'Cause you let me see you naked," he drawled.

In spite of herself, for the second time, she laughed quietly, a shaky uncertainty to it. Her voice caught at the end and she compressed her lips to prevent them from trembling.

"When I call for him," she said, a sob sticking in her throat. "It isn't because I don't want you," she tried to put it into words.

He tilted his head up, narrowing his eyes intently at her. His eyes moved as if he understood implicitly.

"Why are the dreams bad this week?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Bad case?" he tried. He tried to remember if Kelly said they'd had a case with children, or tragic marriages.

She shook her head again, and lay down. He slung his arm around her hips and stroked the warm skin on her back, pulling her closer. She resisted him for a moment, and then looked at his jaw. She touched her hand to his lips, diamond pressing to the corner of his mouth.

"Kelly says I'm brave to marry you," she murmured, snarky. She moved her lips soundlessly. "But you've never called me Shannon."

He shrugged.

Jenny wasn't much like Shannon.

"I'm scared, Jethro," Jenny said hoarsely, her confession echoing in the dark bedroom between them, whispered, hissed. She made a face and her eyes darkened. "I hate being scared, you bastard."

He smirked at her.

"_I_ scare you?" he asked gruffly. "A Neanderthal with a tool belt?" he quoted.

She cocked an eyebrow harshly.

"Yes," she snapped tightly.

His jaw softened and he moved his face closer to hers. Her hand slid along his cheek, and he turned his head, kissing her wrist, and then kissing her lips, his hand moving up into her hair. He pulled it back from her forehead.

"What's scarin' you, Jen?" he demanded, his tone allowing no sarcastic comment or deflection for an answer.

"I am scared of losing you, Leroy," she said quietly—she called him that sometimes, because no one else ever did. "I was never supposed to feel like this about a man again."

It was stunning, how quickly she could go from vulnerable to impenetrable.

He ran his hands through her hair again, his lips brushing her jaw.

"Checkmate," he gloated.

She tilted her head back.

"Jethro," she murmured, loudly, confidently.

"Yeah?" he answered in a soft grunt. He shrugged and pushed her onto her back, rolling on top of her with practiced gentility.

She touched his neck, fingertips pressing into him earnestly.

"I'm not so brave in the dark," she whispered huskily, her eyes wet.

He leaned closer, his lips against hers for a moment. He touched her face, and dragged his lips along her jaw.

"I am," he assured her.

* * *

_"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave."  
[Mahatma Gandhi]_

* * *

_-I just love that last bit._

_-alexandra  
story#141_


End file.
